“Yes. That’s me.” I gave him a thumbs-up and nodded enthusiastically.
Kyrill made a low sound that might have been a suppressed snort.
Another man gave me a polite nod. “Welcome.”
“Oh good, we are welcome here then? I wasn’t really sure what we’d be walking into since someone” — I shotSasha a pointed look — “refused to give me any details. Glad to see this isn’t all hostile takeover vibes.”
Sasha’s fingers pressed gently into my back, silently reminding me I was improvising in an environment perhaps not ideal for such things.
“They are not your new friends,” he murmured near my ear, his breath ghosting across my skin.
“Bold of you to assume I can’t multitask,” I whispered back.
The men continued speaking to him, updating him on things I only half understood — deliveries, schedules, and something about territory.
I caught one of them glancing at me again and waved. He froze for half a second, then, very seriously, he gave me a small nod.
Progress.
We moved toward yet another SUV waiting near the port, and I leaned toward Sasha as we walked.
“So,” I stage-whispered, “are they all terrifying, or are there sub-groups of sorts. Like do they maybe have a book club?”
He didn’t look at me, but his thumb dug into my hip possessively. “Do not flirt with them.”
“I’m not flirting. I’m onboarding.”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
By the time I had introduced myself to the third, terrifyingly composed Russian man, I suspected I might be the only person here without a defined role.
This was slightly disheartening, but historically it has never stopped me.
“Addy. Again. Just in case we’re doing the whole formalities thing.” I extended my hand to a dark-haired man who looked a bit younger than me, like my rude companion wasn’t glaring daggers at me.
The man hesitated only briefly before shaking my hand firmly but carefully, casting a slightly nervous glance at the man trailing behind me like the ghost of a Victorian child. Very clingy, and no manners at all.
“Misha,” he said quietly.
He released my hand almost immediately. Smart man. Sasha stepped closer, sliding his palm around my waist — he wasn’t being subtle anymore. He spread his fingers slightly against my hip, as if to remind me and everyone else exactly where I stood.
“There’s no need for formalities. You don’t need to know their names. All you need to know is they are here to protect you,” he said in a low, smooth voice with an absolutely lethal edge to it.
Normally, he spoke without a noticeable accent, but the more he spoke Russian to his men, the more it crept into his voice, sharpening the edges of every word.
My stomach did something deeply unhelpful. Traitorous butterflies.
Misha nodded once and stepped back without argument.
Sasha leaned down slightly, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “You’re gonna need to behave before I lose my shit, Little Devil.”
“I’m just being friendly,” I whispered.
“You’re beingtoofriendly.”
“That’s because I’m naturally charming.”
He tightened his grip fractionally, just enough to make my knees go weak, but not enough to hurt.